


The Unwelcome Guest

by BabbleKing (Babblish)



Series: The Heart of Janus [4]
Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bonus Content, Changelings Referenced, DVD Extras, Disabled Characters, Fic Tie In, Fluff, Gen, Janus Order Referenced, LGBTQ Themes, Magical Disability, Mild Angst, Queer Themes, Seizures, Spirits, the 1980s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:35:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25547539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Babblish/pseuds/BabbleKing
Summary: Stricklander is just a not so humble changeling minding his own business, trying to install a secret hide out in his soon to be office, but he quickly finds his machinations have not gone entirely unseen.Ties in withWhispers Within,Under the Sun,and the rest ofThe Heart of Janus au.
Relationships: Walter Strickler | Stricklander & Original Character(s)
Series: The Heart of Janus [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1470869
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	The Unwelcome Guest

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Theft, Blood, Murder, Racy Language, Puns, Fast Food, and the 1980s.

It was well after hours at Arcadia Oaks High School and Stricklander hammered in the final nail of his new bookcase. He took a step back and eyed his handiwork critically, looking out for any signs that the bookcase, functional as it was, was nothing more than a means to obfuscate his soon to be on-location hideout. He frowned, noticing he had carelessly chipped the wood on the bottom corner with his shoe. But that was impossible, he would never be so unaware of his surroundings.

Stricklander eyed over his shoulder cautiously, suddenly paranoid he had not gone so undetected. He saw nothing but the walls of what had once been the classroom he taught English in over a decade earlier. He spun a circle, just to be sure. There was nothing. He sniffed and looked at the time on his watch. It was getting late, and he had more urgent matters to get to. He knocked the emergency escape lever with his foot and waited patiently as the bookcase sank into the building noisily. He grimaced, resolving himself to top up the lubricant when next he returned. He stepped over the edge, too impatient for it to completely descend, and pulled the crank on the other side. The bookcase ascended as noisily as it had risen, catching for a second before it resumed its journey to the ceiling.

With careful steps he squeezed past a few storage boxes he had left haphazardly in the centre of the old room and took one last look at his handiwork. He frowned, fished out a book from one of the boxes, and placed his most recent encyclopaedias on the middle right shelf. When he was finished with it, the room was going to be a veritable study. Stricklander smiled to himself. Perhaps he’d even be able to convince Nomura to smuggle one or two curios from the museum. He backed out of the room and quietly made his way down the hall, ducking out the nearest exit and heading for his car before anyone noticed his presence.

⁂

It was nearly the beginning of the new school year and Stricklander was busier than usual. He almost didn’t find the time to renovate his new office in the evening after everyone, including the principal and grounds keeper, had left. He shouldered his way into the room, box of papers in his arms, and sat his load on the desk that had a thick collection of dust obscuring the ageing woodstain. He turned to face the bookcase, his first task to unload the books and free up one of his boxes. He froze. The books had been arranged on the shelves, first by category and then by… he squinted, trying to recall their contents… date of publication. He frowned, spinning in a suspicious circle, certain someone was intentionally messing with him. There was nobody.

Stricklander decided to pretend to be cool, and began to drag the desk to the far wall, facing the bookcase. He stood behind it, troubleshooting how secure it was as a location. If someone were to enter, he’d see them immediately in that position. However it was not entirely ideal as it wasn’t near enough the secret section for his comfort. He dragged the desk out in front of the bookcase, facing the far wall. He definitely felt safer from that position. The door obscured visitors but then again, it obscured him too. He needed a chair.

The classroom opposite was not in use, there was a problem with the ceiling and it had not been repaired in time for class to resume in the upcoming week. The teacher’s chair however sat ignored in the room, upturned on the carpeted floor, its accompanying desk nowhere to be seen. It would do. Stricklander grabbed it, hauled it through the short length of the hall, and backed his way into the blossoming office. He began to wheel it to his desk but froze, staring up at an obscenely naked man who sat on his desk with an expectant smile on his face. His eyes wandered towards the window, looking for signs the man had climbed in from outside. It was still shut. He went to call the police but paused, realising if word got out about the incident it could cost him his cover at the school.

“Good evening,” the man said smoothly, “Are you sure you’re going to make it in time?”

“Get out of here you miscreant lunatic,” Stricklander spat, “Are you trying to get me fired?”

“Of course not,” the man replied.

“How did you get in here?” Stricklander demanded, keeping his voice a low hiss.

The strange man paused, holding his finger to his chin in a dramatic manner, “I flew,” he said, “Isn’t that how you got here?”

“My office!” Stricklander snapped, losing patience with the strange man who seemed hell-bent on mimicking his accent.

The strange man smiled, “You weren’t paying attention.”

“What are you doing here?” Stricklander demanded.

The strange man gestured at the bookcase behind him, “Helping!”

“Well stop it,” Stricklander chided, “You organised the books wrong.”

“I’m sorry,” the man winced, “You were busy with the others and I couldn’t very well ask, could I?”

“You’ve been here since working hours?” Stricklander exclaimed, “What if someone saw you?”

“They wouldn’t see me,” the man scoffed.

“You’re not wearing any clothes!” Stricklander gestured at the man.

The man looked down at himself as though noticing for the first time, “That seems to be the case.”

“I’m talking to a fruitcake,” Stricklander sighed.

“There are worse people you could be talking to,” the man smirked, “Yourself for example.”

Stricklander pinched his brow wearily, sighing again into his hands. When he looked up, the stranger had vanished. “That’s not funny!” he yelled.

⁂

Stricklander gazed around his new office in approval. It wasn’t perfect, the walls could do with a new coat of paint, a new carpet wouldn’t have gone astray either, and the wall on the far side of his desk was completely blank. Still, he sniffed, it was better than his last office and that was all that mattered. He sat behind his desk and pulled out his diary, the school year was about to begin the next day and this time around he was going to be the _head_ of the English department. For preference he would have preferred something… meatier, History or perhaps even Science, but it had been the decision of the school board and he hadn’t quite got them eating out of his hand just yet.

He frowned, staring at what he could only describe as an overgrown pixie with its own personal thunderstorm that had materialised in the far corner of his office. Stricklander watched it sceptically, not entirely sure what to expect. A man formed from its centre. Stricklander stood with his arms crossed, already annoyed with his games.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” the man looked at the ground, “Could do with a _really_ nice carpet though, what do you think?”

“You’re not human,” Stricklander sneered.

“I fail to see what that has to do with my ability to judge interior decorating,” the man said, absently running his hand through his thick dark hair.

“So you don’t deny it?” Stricklander troubleshot possible weaknesses the man may have had.

The man flashed him a warm smile, “I’ve been watching you.”

“You call that a threat?” Stricklander demanded, feeling for his letter opener in his top drawer.

The man frowned, “No, of course not.”

“Then _why_ have you been watching me?” Stricklander’s hand brushed against something hard and cold.

The man took several steps forward, “Do you really want to know?” he wondered, “Well, if you insist, I’m new to this part of the world. I’m still finding my feet.”

Stricklander tucked the letter opener into his sleeve and crossed his arms, “And what does _that_ have to do with me?”

The man leant on his desk, “I don’t know, why don’t you tell me?” he smirked knowingly.

“I’m a teacher,” Stricklander sighed, “Unless you’re a teenage student enrolled at this school, I can’t help you.”

“Oh I’m definitely not a teen,” the man grinned, “But I think you just might be able to help me.”

“In what way?” Stricklander asked.

The man chewed his lip thoughtfully, “I have no idea,” he chuckled, “I’ll leave that up to you.”

“Please go away,” Stricklander sighed, “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“Oh yes - yes, very busy,” the man replied in a mocking tone, “Did you really want me to leave you to your little nest alone?”

“Yes,” Stricklander replied.

“Okay,” the man nodded, “I’ll go for now, but you have to tell me your name first.”

Stricklander frowned, something telling him this would be a very bad idea, “Tell me _your_ name first.”

“B—” the man smirked in self-conscious embarrassment, “Sam, it’s Sam.”

Walter smiled thinly, “Please leave me alone, Sam.”

Sam gave him a mocking salute, “I will see you tomorrow then.”

“No you won’t, I have a meeting with the principal after hours and then I—” Stricklander remembered who he was talking to, “— I have business elsewhere for the rest of the evening.”

Sam nodded solemnly, “I understand.”

⁂

The evening was getting on and Stricklander had nowhere else to go but to his empty apartment. He took out the sandwich he had left in the teacher’s lounge and headed back to his office, whistling happily to himself as he walked. He sat down at his desk, and took a large bite out of the peanut butter sandwich, flipping through some class work that still needed graded as he thought about his plans for the next day. He finished his dinner quickly, regretting not bringing a beverage with him, and sighed when the increasingly familiar spirit formed in the far side of his office.

“What do you want?” Sam asked casually.

“Pardon?” Stricklander made a face, “What do _I_ want?”

“Yes,” Sam nodded encouragingly, “What do you desire most in the whole world?”

Stricklander thought for a moment, “I want to be left alone.”

Sam laughed as though he thought Stricklander was joking, “Other than that, what do you want? It doesn’t matter how expensive or obscure.”

“Why don’t you tell me?” Stricklander rolled his eyes, already bored with the spirit’s line of enquiry.

“I don’t understand,” Sam frowned, “How could I possibly know your deepest desires?”

“I’m sorry but I’m an _English_ teacher,” Stricklander smirked, “I don’t have any imagination.”

Sam edged closer, a knowing look on his face, “Well what sensual experience is above all others?”

“Sensual?” Stricklander asked, frowning at the thought as though he were taking it seriously, “A really _good_ pen.”

“A really good pen?” Sam echoed, “What is a really good pen for you? Is it a fountain pen? Ballpoint? Quill?”

Stricklander fiddled with the pen at his desk, “Fountain, for preference, but it’s not just about the nib. It’s the resistance of the pen, the way it runs along paper, the flow of the ink, a good pen is a balance of many different things.”

Sam grinned, “I see!” the grin fell as he sat at the desk, chewing on his lip, “You prefer them to be not too slippy, allowing you to have superior control, a smooth flow of ink, no blotting, and let me think—” he paused, “— and a comfortable grip in your hand.”

“I fail to see how this is relevant to anything at all,” Stricklander exhaled, still fiddling with the pen in his hand.

“Oh it absolutely isn’t relevant,” Sam waved his hand, “I’m just trying to make conversation.”

“Wasting my time would be a far more accurate description, I think you’ll find,” Stricklander smirked.

Sam wagged his finger at the changeling, “Ah, I think you will find _I_ find that incorrect.”

“How long is this going to continue, Sam?” Stricklander asked, “Are you going to keep pushing my boundaries until the next thing I know you’re manifesting in the lavatory while I’m trying to use it?”

“I hadn’t considered the lavatory,” Sam made a face as though he was considering it.

“Don’t you dare,” Stricklander said coldly, just in case the spirit really was that stupid.

“You think so little of me,” Sam laughed, “I’m not _that_ desperate for company.”

Stricklander looked at the spirit critically, “Just desperate enough to harass a poor humble English teacher at his place of work.”

Sam burst into laughter, “You sell yourself very short,” he chuckled, “Very short indeed.”

“It is to balance out my height,” Stricklander smirked curtly.

“Well, I suppose for a human you are quite tall,” Sam grinned.

“But I _am_ human,” Stricklander insisted.

“Truly?” Sam replied, brows raised, “With _your_ soul?”

Stricklander frowned. He wasn’t entirely sure what he expected but there was something about the mention of his soul that felt like a violation, “I don’t have a soul,” he said curtly, “I’m an English teacher remember?” he smirked forcefully.

Sam edged closer on the desk, reaching a hand out in front of him as though it rested on an invisible barrier, “That simply isn’t the case.”

Stricklander glared at the spirit, “I think I know my own job description very well actually.”

“Oh?” Sam looked up at him with big brown eyes, “Do you really think that makes a difference?”

Stricklander frowned at the man, opening his mouth to say something smart in response, but the spirit vanished like a spectre in the night. A horrifying echo of something he couldn’t quite name.

⁂

The following day Stricklander returned to his office early in the morning, coffee in hand. He sleepily sat at his desk to collect some papers he had left there the night before and frowned. He took a sip of coffee, frowning harder. At his desk, sitting helpfully on his daily journal, was an extremely expensive Parker fountain pen. Underneath there was a piece of paper that had the words ‘a touch of solace for the soulless’ in admittedly exquisite handwriting. He tested out the pen, frowning even harder at how much he liked it, and hurriedly packed it away in his bottom drawer before anyone saw it. He finished his coffee, half expecting the spirit to be watching him from some dark corner of the room, and checked his journal for his schedule. It was going to be another very long day.

⁂

It was well after midnight by the time Stricklander was able to return home. He held his arm to his side stiffly, hoping Bular hadn’t damaged it half as badly as it felt. It was his own fault really, he had many flaws but one of his greatest was a general inability to keep his smart mouth shut. Although _technically_ his superior, Bular was not by any means of an intellectual inclination, and he had offered Stricklander the perfect opening for a particularly devastatingly funny joke. Bular had _not_ laughed.

Stricklander opened the door to his apartment with his key, lit only by the warm glow of the street lights by the road. Without thinking, he kicked the door shut behind himself, flicked on the lights, and dragged his feet to the couch in front of his little entertainment unit. He sat in a heap, hand over his face as he contemplated sleeping then and there rather than endure the rigmarole of undressing with his injured arm. Tentatively he prodded at his shoulder, testing the subluxated joint and wondering if he could ram it back into place on his own.

“Are you hurt?” a voice asked him from behind.

Stricklander screamed, leaping to his feet ready to defend himself.

“Hush, it’s okay. It’s just me,” Sam coaxed him in what he probably thought was a soothing sentiment.

“Get out!” Stricklander growled, “How _dare_ you trespass in my own home!”

Sam’s head tilted to the side like a confused puppy, “I don’t mean to intrude but there’s only so many places I can see you in private.”

“Why do you feel entitled to seeing me at all?” Stricklander demanded, gesturing angrily at the creature with his good arm.

“Entitled?” Sam tilted his head in the other direction, “I thought we were friends?”

“We’re not friends,” Stricklander glowered back.

“I gave you that pen,” Sam replied softly.

“Tell me honestly,” Stricklander smiled at him icily, “It was stolen, wasn’t it?”

“Tell me honestly, where do you think I have money stashed on me?” Sam replied, gesturing at his entirely naked body.

Stricklander smiled curtly, “You should wear clothes if you’re pretending to be human.”

Sam nodded to himself sagely, “Clothes are more acceptable to steal, I see.”

“No?” Stricklander had to stop himself from laughing, “If you wore clothes you’d have somewhere to put the money.”

“But how would I get the clothes without any money _and_ without stealing?” Sam smirked at him wryly as though catching him out in a logical fallacy.

Stricklander waved his hand around at a loss, “I don’t know, befriend someone, get them to give you clothes as a gift?”

Sam nodded to himself, crossing his arms over his chest, “Would yo——”

“No!” Stricklander exclaimed, “Make friends with someone else!”

Sam looked up at him with tears welling in his ridiculous puppy dog eyes, “Who else is there?”

Stricklander closed his eyes, trying to recall the easiest banishing spell from memory, “Ah,” he said, “Laibjathau gastiz. Gaathau! Gaathau! Laibjathau!”  
[ _Translation from Akruno: Leave guest. Go! Go! Leave!_ ]

To his surprise, the spirit didn’t disappear. Instead he fell to the ground, his body contorting as he succumbed to the throws of a seizure. In his long life Stricklander had witnessed seizures many times, some worse than others, but all of them ugly and terrifying in their own way. Stricklander, despite what others may have assumed, was not a complete monster. He knelt by the spirit, afraid he had murdered the creature in error. Eventually Sam stilled, and he lay with heaving breath, eyes closed and brows furrowed.

Stricklander nudged his shoulder, “Are you okay?” he asked, “I didn’t mean to… well, you know.”

A shaky hand rose to his face and Sam looked up at Stricklander blearily. He mumbled something in a language Stricklander didn’t understand, and then his eyes shot open in terror. He yelled something, again in a language Stricklander didn’t understand, but different than the previous, and tried in vain to climb to his feet.

“Can you… speak English?” Stricklander asked.

Sam gulped, his olive skin turning a particularly sallow hue of green. He whimpered pathetically and looked around him as though noticing his living room for the first time, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he gasped in apparent panic. He said something to himself softly, like a lost child trying to console itself and turned again to Stricklander angrily, his finger held out to him in unambiguous accusation.

“I am _positive_ I spoke the spell correctly,” Stricklander said, pushing the raised finger aside.

To his surprise the spirit growled and grabbed Stricklander’s wrist, squeezing it with pathetic force, speaking his words slowly and carefully. Of course Stricklander didn’t understand, but he could guess the meaning well enough. ‘Fix this.’

Stricklander’s mind raced, not entirely sure what the spirit was capable of when angered, and uncertain as to what had gone wrong. He was a spirit of some kind or another, a shapeshifter on top of that, had Stricklander not seen him form a human shape time and time again, he would have suspected he was a mortal cured of possession, but that… didn’t feel right. No. This creature didn’t seem to need a body to possess, he could make it out of the air, and at will no less.

An idea struck Stricklander and while he felt terrible, he needed to see the result. He made a point of checking his curtains were fully closed and turned off every light in the room. In the darkness he switched forms, a green flash and then nothing, turning to Sam who lay on the floor eyes wide. Stricklander took a step forward, and another, until he stood over the spirit.

“I told you to leave!” Stricklander growled, using the most trollish voice he could muster.

Sam looked up at him, his deep brown eyes hidden under his brows as furrowed them frustratedly. He said something, half apology, half accusation, frozen in place.

“I said leave!” Stricklander kicked him in the side hard.

The spirit, despite reason, didn’t discard his form at all, instead he got on his haunches, glowering up at Stricklander with exactly the same expression as a kicked puppy.

Stricklander sighed, and grabbed Sam by the wrist, pulling him up onto his feet, “Shift!” he said, switching back into his human form.

Sam blinked and furrowed his brows once again like a sulking teen.

“Shift!” Stricklander turned into his true form once more and made a frustrated gesture as though what he were trying to communicate was as simple as night and day. He repeated himself several times until he was certain he understood the meaning of the word.

Sam nodded slowly, understanding at last. He turned frantically, spinning in the room, and grabbed the nearest thing he could find. A small porcelain bust of Gaius Julius Caesar Stricklander kept on the mantelpiece. He held the bust out to Stricklander saying “Shift! Shift!” nodding enthusiastically.

“That is no——” Stricklander began.

“Shift!” Sam yelled, throwing the porcelain bust into the door frame, shattering into several pieces, “Shift!” he insisted, pointing at the sorry remains of the emperor that had shot across his kitchen and living room floor.

Stricklander sighed, “That was over a hundred years old,” he said without fire, “It was the only thing I had to remember…,” he trailed off, not really wanting to talk about the man to a spirit who wasn’t even supposed to know what he was.

“Shift,” Sam repeated, pointing at himself instead, his voice breaking with emotion.

Finally Stricklander understood. “You _can’t_ shift, that’s what’s wrong!” he pointed excitedly at Sam as though he were a particularly slow student who answered a question correctly, “Oh dear,” he added, realising what he had done.

⁂

He was exhausted and his body ached. Stricklander wanted nothing more than to go to bed and pretend like the day had never happened. Yet instead he sat on his couch, hand on his chin, mind racing to figure out a solution for a problem _he_ seemed to have caused… somehow. He turned to look at Sam, who was unhelpfully unstacking every cup, bowl and pan he ever had in the kitchen. He was a spirit. He was a spirit who could make his own forms, but he was also a spirit who seemed to be stuck, at least for the time being, as a human with no understanding of English, or Changeling, or any language Stricklander ever knew. He was also a spirit who seemed to have forgotten everything about modern life, which was his only explanation as for why Sam was suddenly so fascinated with his crockery.

Were Sam the Janus Order’s super computer that stored all of the information they had gathered after the war, Stricklander would have ordered they turn it off and on again. But that wasn’t possible for a spirit. Stricklander frowned at Sam as he dropped a Tupperware funnel onto the ground… or was it?

An idea came to Stricklander. It was, objectively, a horrible idea. However, as a changeling, horrible ideas were something of his prerogative. He sniffed haughtily, rubbing the palms of his hands together like a mischievous bluebottle, and stood up. He walked into the kitchen and held out his hand invitingly.

“Come on,” Stricklander said gently, “I have something to show you.”

Sam looked around, and then realising Stricklander was talking to him, smiled blankly. He took hold of the hand and let the changeling lead him away.

As a humble English teacher, Stricklander could not afford the most lavish of bathrooms, and he stood with the spirit in the cramped area outside of his shower stall. It was clean enough for his purposes, but there was nothing he could do to fix the corners of the room that had begun to rot with persistent damp. Stricklander closed the door behind them, and in a swift movement, pushed the lock.

Sam continued his amazed explorations, turning every now and again to glance at Stricklander enough to let him know he didn’t fully trust him. Stricklander switched back to his original form, if it could even be called as such, and placed a hand on the spirit’s shoulder. Sam took a step back, his eyes not leaving Stricklander’s for a second. He took a deep breath and repositioned Sam so he faced away, his back pressing into Stricklander’s front, with a swift movement, he struck out with a blade, blood sprayed immediately over every surface as Sam fell forward, struggling to escape. He fell to the ground, crawling into the shower, and tried to turn to face Stricklander, his hand pressed tightly against his jugular vein to no avail. It wasn’t long before the spirit bled out, gurgling as though he were drowning, and then… faded away into nothing. Even the blood disappeared as though it had never been there at all.

The orb of light that sprung forth from where his body fell, spun for a moment as though confused, and lowered itself back into the stall, a human form built once anew. Stricklander shifted back into his human form, unsure if he had done well or was about the face the wrath of a justly wronged spirit. To his surprise, Sam seemed to be filled with not so much wrath as grief, and he curled up tightly in the stall, hiding his face from view.

“What did I do?” Sam sniffed from behind his hands.

“Nothing,” Stricklander explained.

“Don’t lie to me!” Sam growled, “I demand you tell me what happened!”

“I banished you,” Stricklander said quietly, “You weren’t supposed to… I didn’t know that would happen.”

“Banished me?” Sam asked, “What, with magic?”

“Well… yes,” Stricklander wasn’t sure what else to say.

Sam burst into brittle laughter, stopping only when it seemed to cause him too much pain, “You foolish man,” he turned to face him, his eyes red from the tears that threatened to run down his face in streaks, “I thought we were friends?” he sounded so hollow, empty, and Stricklander knew Sam’s puckish act had fallen away, leaving behind a spirit so lost and alone he thought to befriend the Whispering Basilisk, not that he could have possibly known.

“I don’t have friends,” Stricklander said curtly.

“That’s not true,” Sam replied, unmistakable pity on his face.

“As a rule—” Stricklander smiled patiently, “— I don’t have friends.”

Sam grimaced, pulling himself up to meet him face to face, “We don’t have to be friends,” he said, “How did you bring me back?” he asked, watching Stricklander back himself into the bathroom door.

“I - I - I… well—” Stricklander quickly unlocked the door, “— don’t take this the wrong way but I… I mean you don’t know?”

“The very last thing I remember—” Sam frowned, pouting slightly with effort, “— you had just come home, and… what happened to you?” he asked, touching Stricklander’s injured shoulder very gingerly.

Stricklander flinched, and spun around to the other side of the door in a heart’s beat, “I’m fine,” he lied, “Nothing to see here, I cut your throat if you must know. It was very quick.”

“Ah,” Sam said, letting his body go and reappearing on the other side of it like an overly concerned spectre, “That explains it. Very clever, I’ll have to tell—” he coughed theatrically, “— You’re very clever.”

“Who?” Stricklander asked, a seed of doubt budding in his mind, “Tell who? I thought you said you had no one?”

Sam laughed awkwardly, “Well, that person isn’t a friend… not exactly.”

“Define not exactly,” Stricklander crossed his arms, “I’m very curious.”

“Oh?” Sam averted his eyes bashfully, a filthy smirk spreading across his face, “We have a very… complicated relationship. We’re not friends, but lets just say that when I tell him to get to his knees he’s more than _eager_ to comply.”

“Yes-thank-you-very-good,” Stricklander blurted out, “Got the picture, there’s no need to elaborate further.”

“Oh I know you know what I’m talking about,” Sam grinned saucily, “Is that how you hurt your shoulder?”

Stricklander closed his eyes as though the darkness would protect him from the mental image, “No,” he said, perhaps more childishly than he intended, “I—” he realised he couldn’t possibly admit to goading Bular, “— I fell down the stairs.”

“I’ve seen the television,” Sam insisted, “I know what that means.”

“Since when have you had a television?” Stricklander asked, “You don’t even own a pair of pants.”

“Ah - ha,” Sam chuckled awkwardly, “You’re rarely here during the day—” he paused thoughtfully, “— or the evenings either.”

Stricklander grumbled, remembering his electricity bill had shot up for no apparent reason, “I see.”

“Humans are very preoccupied with the concept of murder,” Sam mused thoughtfully, “It probably says something about their mortality.”

“You’ve been watching Murder, She Wrote reruns in my house,” Stricklander sighed, “Of course you have.”

“That Jessica Fletcher certainly gets around,” Sam smirked, side stepping Stricklander to drape himself over the couch in an overly familiar manner.

“Do you mind?” Stricklander demanded glowering down at his impudent guest who refused to leave.

Sam frowned, “Didn’t you have a cute little statuette of yourself on the mantelpiece?” he asked, rubbing his chin like he stumbled upon some kind of mystery.

Stricklander flicked on the lights once again, “If you’re referring to the porcelain bust of Gaius Julius Caesar, I’m afraid you broke it,” he exhaled, choosing to ignore the cheeky misidentification.

“Oh dear, was it expensive?” Sam asked, his big puppy dog eyes wide and pathetic.

“Irreplaceable,” Stricklander replied.

“I am sorry,” Sam hugged himself on the couch, his attention caught on the place the bust had once sat.

“In the absence of language one must adapt,” Stricklander said dismissively, wanting to drop the subject and retire once and for all.

Sam took a deep breath, “I can see I’ve overstayed my welcome,” he pulled himself up, needlessly smoothing down his glossy black hair.

“You were never welcome here, Sam,” Stricklander crossed his arms and regretting it instantly, “Once again I would thank you to leave.”

“Of course - of course,” Sam nodded heading for the front door.

“No!” Stricklander yelped.

“I could not be more confused,” Sam said, his hand on the lock.

“You are not to go out like that,” Stricklander snapped, gesturing at the spirit, “What if someone saw you?”

“How would you have me leave?” Sam asked, wearing nothing but a puzzled smirk.

“Come with me,” Stricklander grumbled, grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him to his bedroom door, “Wait here,” he said ducking into the room.

He fished in his box of old clothes he was going to donate to goodwill whenever Stricklander got around to it and pulled out its contents. Digging through the array of shirts and trousers, he eventually found what he was looking for. He grabbed it and ducked back around the door, a pair of decade old emerald green track pants from the 70’s in hand.

“I am very, very confused,” Sam insisted.

“At least put these on,” Stricklander grimaced, thrusting out the dated sports gear.

Sam took them wordlessly, turning them over in his hands, “You’re… giving me clothes?” he asked, frowning critically.

“If my neighbours see you for even a second, I’ll kill you,” Stricklander smiled curtly.

“Oh!” Sam exclaimed brightly, “We _are_ friends!”

“If that’s what it takes for you to leave,” Stricklander conceded.

Sam put on the track pants and struck an affected pose, “Thank you!”

“Yes - yes, for the _hundredth_ time—” Stricklander sighed, “— please get out of my home.” 

With very appreciative nods, Sam made his way to the front door, “If I may ask a personal question?” he paused for a moment, “Since you’re letting me in your pants after all—”

Stricklander scoffed and smiled thinly at the spirit, “Please,” he said following after him.

“Are you choosing to be celibate or are you just unlucky?” Sam asked thoughtfully.

“Get out,” Stricklander replied, “And use the back door, it opens out ont——”

“The alley, yeah - yeah I know,” Sam sighed.

“And for the record, I have a date next Friday night,” Stricklander added defensively.

“Oh… well!” Sam replied, clapping his hands together brightly, “I hope your date goes very well.”

“Thank you,” Stricklander said, gesturing at the back door, “For the one hundred and _first_ , time, get out of my home.”

“Goodbye my friend,” Sam grinned, “I am sorry about the little ornament, and thank you very much for the pants! They have rainbow stripes down each leg, you know me well.”

“I barely know you at all,” Stricklander scoffed.

Sam winked at him saucily, “For now, my friend. For now.”

⁂

Stricklander surreptitiously eyed the clock trying to hide his anxieties from the other restaurant patrons. He had been sitting there for only half an hour and it was not beyond reason that his date was running a little late. He remembered quite distinctly her saying she had an aerobics class after work and it was perfectly feasible that it had run slightly longer than she had expected.

With a quiet sip of the red wine he had ordered, Stricklander turned his attention to the street visible through the great glass windows. Every now and again someone would walk past the window, often with at least one companion. Young lovers and old, families with slightly older children, and potentially miscreant youths with anarchy in their hearts. He saw a woman approach the restaurant, red and black polka dot dress clashing with her strawberry blonde curls and his breath hitched in his throat. There was a pleasant jingle as she let herself in, nodding and smiling apologetically, and Stricklander’s heart fell. It was not _her_. The similar, yet not identical, woman made her way right past him and slid into one of the tables by the wall, her gaggle of friends complimenting her dress and hair.

Time passed, and Stricklander counted two hours as he waited. Still, there was a lingering hope that his date was merely encountering a series of unfortunate barriers that prevented her every effort to get the shiny new Italian restaurant and prospective lover like the heroine of a romantic comedy. But it was getting late, and his hope was running out as surely as his bottle of house red. He vowed to himself he would wait half an hour more, and then accept his humiliating defeat.

Each second passed like torture but despite all impressions, he ran out of hope. Stricklander gulped down the last of his glass with inelegant frustration, and stood up. Sheepishly he paid for the wine and garlic bread which was not as complementary as he had hoped, and left the restaurant hoping nobody realised what had happened. Of course they realised, but a changeling could dream. 

“You are a very patient man,” a voice said rather generously, “I’d have joined you so you wouldn’t lose face but they wouldn’t let me in.”

Stricklander turned to the man about to yell at him publicly but realised himself, instead choosing to smile thinly in his direction as one would an overly familiar stranger.

“It’s a pity, you look very nice in that suit and everything,” Sam continued, standing in front of the restaurant, bold as brass, dressed in nothing but the track pants Stricklander had given him and a Garfield tank top the origin of which was probably best not to question.

“I can’t be seen with a vagabond,” Stricklander hissed lest anyone heard them, “I have to seem respectable.”

Sam flashed him a very defiant look, “To whom?”

Stricklander turned his back to the man and made a point to head off to his car. To his relief Sam shrunk back, heading instead the other direction.

“Thank you,” Stricklander said to no one in-particular, picking up a jaunty gait, his head held high, “To whom indeed,” he added, hoping nobody heard.

There was a near crispness in the air, and struck by a certain kind of resentful energy, Stricklander decided to take something of a nice stroll before he headed back to his car. Arcadia Oaks was not an especially busy town at night, and it had almost enough serenity to lull him out of his foul mood. At least it was, until he realised someone was trailing behind him. He didn’t realise at first, their step was very hard to hear on the cement of the pavement or the tarmac of the roads. But he knew the sound of the breath of a stranger even at a distance. As a changeling, he had to.

For some time they continued, neither acknowledging the other. Stricklander hoped his stalker would give up and go home, if indeed they had a home to go to. He was about ready to turn around and confront the stranger when he spoke, the stranger’s identity shocking him not even slightly.

“I’m sure your date had a reason,” Sam said conversationally, “Really anything could have happened.”

Stricklander made a point of ignoring him.

“Maybe they’re sick,” Sam continued, “Or maybe a family member is sick, you simply can’t tell.”

Stricklander wondered if he could get away with murder a second time.

“It’s okay that you’re ignoring me,” Sam said, “I’ve been stood up so many times, it’s enough to ruin your day.”

Despite himself, Stricklander chuckled, wondering what _possible_ people the spirit was trying to date. They couldn’t have been human, surely.

“I just hope you realise it doesn’t reflect your value as a person,” Sam insisted, sounding all the world like a weirdly personal self-determination cassette.

Stricklander rolled his eyes, knowing exactly how much his personhood was valued by a number of different people.

“Personally I find you quite fascinating,” Sam continued tirelessly, “I could watch you for days and days and da——”

“Will you shut up!” Stricklander snapped, feeling more secure as they approached a more secluded spot on the other side of the park, “Would it kill you to _mind_ your own business?”

“Oh,” Sam exhaled sharply, “I’m sorry if I sound condescending or intrusive. I really am speaking from a place o——”

“I don’t care,” Stricklander growled angrily, spinning around to face him.

“I’m sorry,” Sam repeated.

“You really are the most annoying person I’ve ever met,” Stricklander remembered his general company, “The fifth most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

“You have my condolences,” Sam replied, having the gall to sound sincere.

Stricklander snorted, “You have _no_ idea.”

“I might surprise you,” Sam laughed.

“I’m sorry,” Stricklander sighed, “For snapping at you… and what I said earlier.”

“Oh that’s nothing,” Sam waved his hand dismissively, “You were angry and embarrassed and I am… me.”

“Sam, when was the last time you ate real food?” Stricklander asked, feeling more than a little hungry himself.

Sam made an amusingly telling expression, “I admit it’s… been a while.

“I’m probably going to regret this but—” Stricklander began with just enough self-awareness that the future might come for him with vengeance, “— how would you like to grab a bite to eat?”

Everything about Sam brightened with glee, “Is that an invitation?”

“Well, yes of course,” Stricklander replied, “I don’t have much money but I’m hungry and I don’t want to face my kitchen after midnight with an empty stomach.”

“I’d love to,” Sam jumped at him like he was about to pull him into a crushing brace of a hug, but thought better of it at the last minute, choosing to extend his hand instead, “It’s a date.”

Stricklander nearly retracted the offer on the spot, “It certainly is _not_ ,” he scoffed.

⁂

The parking lot overlooked the town, not a stone’s throw away from the lookout that sat above them. It was a construction site really, although it had once been the home of a very rich person who earned their fortune from the only gold ever salvaged from the mines that had once been the heart of the town. Stricklander still remembered his daughter, how brightly she had smiled at him when she wasn’t supposed to. She had a floral name and even more floral wardrobe. 

Stricklander sat in his car, eyes focused on the stars above that tried so hard to sparkle but couldn’t quite make it in the light of town. In the passenger seat next to him sat Sam, and they both ate their inexpensive Happy Meals™ to the radio playing Heartache by Pepsi & Shirlie in the background. Stricklander turned to him, watching the spirit carefully as his attention was elsewhere, realising Sam wasn’t quite as terrible company as he had taken him for. At least, as long as both parties were consenting at the time.

“What are they building?” Sam asked quietly, as though there was anyone there to hear them.

“It’s going to be an observatory,” Stricklander explained.

“Oh,” Sam went quiet again, apparently happy with the answer, “Tell me - tell me about your date… er— he began again gingerly, “— about them as a person.”

Stricklander sighed, “She works at the library, we always have such a fun time talking when I take the kids on field trips or when I come in on my own. Enough that I honestly thought I had a chance.”

“Oh I see,” Sam nodded understandingly.

“It was foolish,” Stricklander dismissed, “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“I can imagine,” Sam sighed, sounding almost disappointed.

Stricklander snorted, “I bet—” he snorted again, chuckling, barely able to continue the sentence, “— you thought she was a man!”

Sam met his eye with twinkling and saucy intent, “Would it really be so absurd?”

Stricklander immediately focused his attention on the loose stitching of his steering wheel cover, “Ha!” he laughed nervously, not knowing what to do with the remains of his burger, “Perhaps not,” he muttered, “At least, in your circles.”

“And yours too I suspect,” Sam added knowingly.

“My circles,” Stricklander scoffed, “You mean the school.”

“No...,” Sam let the word hang in the air for a torturous amount of time, “I do not.”

“Ah,” Stricklander thought critically, questioning everything as he finished his cheeseburger and carefully folded its wrapper into a neat little square, “Sam?” he asked softly.

“Yes?” Sam replied, pausing with a small handful of fries a mere inch away from his mouth.

“What are you doing in Arcadia?” Stricklander asked.

Sam ate his fries thoughtfully, “I ask myself that question every day,” he admitted, his voice hollow and distant, “Why, what are you doing in Arcadia?” he smirked, not letting the vulnerability sit for a second more.

Stricklander snorted, “Nobody, clearly,” he paused, not wanting Sam to get the wrong idea, “Thank you, uh… for the pen. If you must know, it writes _beautifully_.”

Sam grinned and returned to his burger, “I just wanted to give you what you wanted most,” he muttered bashfully, “Pickle?” he offered conversationally.

“No thank you,” Stricklander replied, unable to help himself, “You’re not my type.”

Sam burst into laughter, appreciating his frankly horrendous joke, and they spent the rest of the evening looking at the stars trying to twinkle in the suburban light.

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't really sure what to do with this fic but for now I am posting this as a standalone bonus feature. It references events that come up in Whispers Within - Chapter 22: Hearts and Whispers. You can read this without prior knowledge but Whispers Within goes into more detail who this Sam dude _really_ is.


End file.
